


Bless the Beasts and Children

by emungere



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Canon Incest, Canonical Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-22
Updated: 2007-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Ukoku meets Koryuu much earlier, and Jien decides that raising Gojyo in the same house with his mother isn't the smartest idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to Chrissy and Louise for the beta.

"It's not easy being a single father," Koumyou had said, with every appearance of sincerity. Ukoku didn't quite understand how that had led to being urinated on and sticking himself in the knee with a diaper pin, but it was certainly Koumyou's fault. Now Koumyou was off somewhere, and Ukoku was incredibly tempted to simply put the baby down and walk away. Far away.

Kouryuu waved his chubby hands in the air and made solemn baby faces. He tried to chew on his own foot but kept losing his grip on it.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Ukoku said. "I actually cannot believe I am sitting here doing this. Watching you attempt to eat your appendages. You're going to need those later, you little idiot."

"Buh," Kouryuu said, and Kouryuu was a stupid name anyway. Why couldn't Koumyou at least be bothered to give the brat a real name? Kouryuu bubbled and made another attempt at cannibalism.

"Is it cannibalism when you're eating yourself and not another member of your species? It seems like there ought to be a more specific word for eating yourself. I suppose people don't do it enough for--" He stopped and ground his teeth together, hit all over again with the absurdity that was currently his life. "I'm talking to you like you're capable of rational _thought_ and not a bag of blood and bones and _pee_. Don't even think about doing that again. I'm out of diapers."

He paced, but Koumyou's room wasn't that big. He could--ought to--insist on something of a decent size if he was going to start keeping pets. After a few minutes, Kouryuu started to cry, which was a change. He didn't make much noise usually.

Ukoku went over to watch him. His tiny face was turning a bit red and his mouth seemed to take up half of it. His pink toothless gums were oddly sinister even without the cannibalism aspect. His voice was high and thin and sharp, seemingly calculated for maximum annoyance with minimum effort.

"I warned you about the diaper thing. And don't think I'm feeding you again. It only encourages your bladder."

Ukoku sat down and thumbed through one of Koumyou's few books. This one was seemed to be a romance between a motorcycle-riding vampire and the son of a farmer. It seemed pretty unlikely, especially the part with the turnips. He thought he might've misread that part, actually. It was hard to concentrate with the brat crying.

"Shut up," Ukoku muttered. Kouryuu didn't listen. After a minute, Ukoku got up again.

The crib was really an old vegetable crate padded with blankets. Ukoku knew because he'd watched Koumyou nick it from the back of the greengrocers a couple weeks ago. Kouryuu fit perfectly in it, even when he waved his arms around like that. Ukoku closed his eyes in resignation as the noise went on and on and _on_. He bent down and picked the brat up.

The noise stopped. Kouryuu blew spit bubbles at him and grabbed at his sutra. Ukoku let him. If the thing couldn't take on somebody who hadn't even grown teeth yet, there was no way it would've survived this long. Kouryuu gummed it for a while and then lost interest, going back to his own body parts. He fit his entire fist into his mouth. Ukoku wondered if he'd choke on it.

It was late. Sharp, bare tree branches pricked the full moon as it passed its zenith. Ukoku couldn't imagine what a supposedly respectable sanzo priest was doing out at this time of night. He rose and stepped outside onto the wooden platform that ran around the building. He sat on the edge and let his feet swing into space.

He liked the darkness, generally. He travelled by night when it was feasible. He enjoyed stepping out of the shadows behind Koumyou and he enjoyed Koumyou's utter lack of surprise, no matter how long it had been since his last visit.

"Come and look at this," Koumyou would say, and show him a moth so white it seemed to glow, or a phosphorescent fungus or some penny dreadful novel he'd picked up. This time he'd said, "Here, hold this," and told him the story of Kouryuu the river rat. "I think he likes you," Koumyou had said afterwards, while Kouryuu napped in Ukoku's arms.

The brat was drifting off again now, fingers clutching at a fold of Ukoku's robe. He breathed in little sighs that were almost snores and kicked Ukoku in the stomach every once in a while.

"Get back here, old man," Ukoku muttered under his breath. The dark seemed different now that he wasn't out in it, now that he was the one waiting.

Kouryuu shifted in his arms, and Ukoku held him tighter. It would be so easy to kill him; crush him, suffocate him, drop him over the edge. Ukoku wondered how Koumyou would take that, if that would finally shake his calm, if anything could.

Kouryuu stayed miraculously asleep as Ukoku held him out over the drop. It was perhaps four feet to the rocks below. It might not even kill him. Kouryuu kicked his legs and his face twisted up, but he didn't wake. His hands fisted and opened, again and again, as if he were trying to hold onto sleep.

The moon sank further onto its bed of nails, and Ukoku thought about all the things he could change just by letting go. Three lives altered, one ended completely, with one muscle movement. It would be easy, as most things were easy. No one seemed to realize how simple life was.

One night last month he'd gone for a walk with Koumyou to the town bar. Koumyou ordered his usual, drank for free, blessed the bartender's favorite beer stein and someone's deck of cards. They'd sat for an hour or so and watched people drink and laugh and argue and live their lives. It had been the single strangest experience of Ukoku's life to date.

Conversations tended to stop around Ukoku. People were quieter, always left him alone, often left entirely. Being with Koumyou was like hiding behind a hunter's blind in the woods; all the animals came out to play.

There had been one incident in particular, a man and a woman, both of them just a bit older than Ukoku, both of them plain-featured and wearing clothes that had been patched, albeit carefully. In the course of the evening they'd announced their engagement, had a few drinks, kissed in a way that went beyond kissing and bordered on public indecency, and fought over--well, Ukoku wasn't sure. Something about the color of the wedding dress and an invitation to an older, unpleasant relative.

The bride-to-be had slapped her fiancee's face, and he'd shoved her back against the bar, and Ukoku had watched the fallout with rapt attention, from screaming to apologies to further obscene kisses.

"They think it matters," he'd said to Koumyou as they stepped back outside. The darkness rushed over them as if the stifling light and heat of the bar had never existed.

Koumyou had laid a hand on his shoulder under pretense of steadying himself. "Of course," he'd said. "It's the most important thing in the world."

Ukoku had looked at his infuriating smile and felt his meaning just out of reach. He didn't understand it now anymore than he had then, and he didn't understand Koumyou any better either. And his arms hurt.

He drew Kouryuu close to his chest again and listened to his gurgling sigh. Kouryuu shifted against him, warm and heavier than his size should allow. He thumped Ukoku's chest with his fist and gripped the robe again. "Fwa," he said, and settled deeper into sleep.

The tree shadows wavered and disgorged Koumyou, trailing a stream of smoke from his pipe. He hiked his robes up to his knees to climb up onto the platform, and Ukoku noted that he wore nothing underneath.

"Is the sake warm?" Koumyou asked.

"Where have you been?" Ukoku said. He'd meant to sound merely curious, if that, but the words came out too sharp.

"I went for a walk."

"For four hours?" Ukoku winced internally. He felt as if he were following a script, unable to deviate back towards sense and sanity.

"Oh, I can walk all day," Koumyou said mildly. "I'm not so old as all that yet. And of course it's much easier when I'm not carrying Kouryuu. Thank you for looking after him."

"What kind of a name is that anyway?" He'd like to know where his control has gone. He'd also sort of like to punch himself in the mouth.

"Hm," Koumyou said. The smoke from his pipe was sweet and spicy and entirely too familiar. "An accurate one," he said, at last.

Some insomniac crow cawed in the distance. Ukoku heard the rustling of feathers, and Kouryuu whimpered in his sleep and sucked at his fingers.

"You smell like garlic," Ukoku said finally. "Did you have a nice dinner?" He was still unable to keep the edge out of his voice, but it was duller now.

Koumyou laughed softly. "It was tolerable. I think the chef still needs a bit of practice."

"You cooked."

"Well, so I did."

Koumyou was closer now, leaning against Ukoku's side, as warm and heavy as the baby in his arms. Koumyou's hand rested at the back of his neck. Ukoku closed his eyes.

"Who did you cook for?"

"I'm taking lessons."

"Why? For the brat?"

Koumyou's laughter is silent this time. Ukoku can feel it all through his body. "Yes, that's right." He tugs Ukoku's hair gently. "For the brat. You have it exactly right."

Ukoku hunched his shoulders away from the touch and wished he could stop himself, because really, he didn't mind it. Koumyou paid him no attention anyway. His hand stayed where it was.

"He doesn't even have teeth," Ukoku said.

"Oh, but he has quite a bite already. Did I already ask about the sake?"

"One of the monks left it outside the door. I imagine it's gone cold by now."

"Never mind. It'll still be good." He rose and left Ukoku feeling oddly chilled until his return.

Ukoku transferred Kouryuu to the crook of his arm and drank down the sake he was offered. He always drank Koumyou's sake, though he wasn't that fond of it. He wondered if Koumyou knew that.

"It's late," Koumyou said. He sipped his sake and looked up at the sky.

"Are you going to sleep?"

"No, I don't think so. Let's wait for the sunrise."

They weren't words that should've inspired much of a reaction at all. They definitely shouldn't have made Ukoku's stomach twist like that, a feeling he'd only previously experienced after eating bad fish. And perhaps, occasionally, around Koumyou.

Kouryuu stirred slightly and stuffed a corner of the sutra in his mouth, sucking noisily at it. "Do you want him back?" Ukoku asked.

"Oh, no. You two seem to be getting on well enough, and I wouldn't want to wake him."

Koumyou wasn't sitting as close now, but Ukoku could still feel him. It wasn't just his heat. Koumyou had a sense of calm around him that made Ukoku twitch at the best of times. Right now it made him dig his nails into his own arms in an effort to stay still.

"Are you staying for a while?" Koumyou asked.

"No." He usually left before dawn, but now Koumyou had him waiting for the sun.

"I think you should."

Koumyou didn't say things like that, didn't say should or shouldn't. He seldom even expressed an opinion. On anything. "All right," Ukoku said, before he could stop and think. "Only for a day or two," he added quickly.

"Yes, of course." Koumyou patted his knee and left his hand there, fingers drumming slowly. It was just enough movement to make it completely impossible for Ukoku to forget he was touching him.

He twitched slightly and straightened, shoving Kouryuu into Koumyou's arms. "I'm going to bed."

Kouryuu started that annoying wail again. No amount of bouncing and cooing from Koumyou could shut him up, and for some reason Ukoku was not walking away. Instead he was letting Koumyou pull him back down from the crouch he'd risen to and letting Koumyou lay the baby back in his arms. Ukoku watched with more than a little horror as Kouryuu quieted again.

Koumyou patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, it's not you. He's just not fond of change. Look," he added. "Do you think the sky's starting to lighten?" He pointed towards the horizon.

"That's the west. The sun rises in the _east_ ," he couldn't stop himself from adding.

"Ah, well. My mistake."

There was silence after that. By the time the darkness started to dissipate into true dawn, Koumyou was asleep on his shoulder. His snores were remarkably similar to Kouryuu's. Ukoku watched the sun rise alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Jien came back from buying groceries and found his mother drowning some kid in the bathtub. Okay, not drowning. Watching as he slipped under the water and blew bubbles in a struggle to breathe and doing nothing. Which was actually worse. He stood still for five long seconds in the doorway while his brain insisted he couldn't really be seeing this.

His brain lost, and his body moved quickly and yanked the kid out of the water, wrapping him in a towel while he cried and coughed.

"Mom--" Jien stopped there, mouth open, no idea what he could possibly say next.

She smiled. "I was just giving him a bath."

"Who is he? Why is he-- Are you babysitting for someone?"

"For your father, for your dear father. This is his son, Jien, this is your brother." She still smiled, but the rest of her face gradually crumpled into pain and tears.

"I'm gonna kill him," Jien muttered. It wasn't enough he'd left, apparently. He had to dump his bastards on Mom too.

"Oh, yes," his mother said, looking up suddenly. "We can bury him in the garden, by the tomatoes. It will be a lovely funeral." She was looking at the baby.

"You--you just rest, Mom." He held the baby closer and backed out of the room. Running seemed like the thing to do. "I'll be back later."

He walked out of the house, down the road, over the hill. He stopped by a little stream and sat abruptly in the grass. He felt too heavy, like his bones were no longer up to the job of supporting him.

 _She's nuts_ , he thought. It wasn't the first time, but now there didn't seem to be any argument left against it. Sane women don't murder babies, not even their husband's bastards. He glanced down at the kid. Not even their husband's half-human bastards. Oh, gods, that hair. It was just a dusting of red fuzz, but it was the color of blood, and it matched his eyes. No doubt there.

Jien rubbed a hand over his face. "Dammit, dad."

"Dada?" the baby said.

Jien squinted at him. "You can talk? You look pretty little to talk." Jien poked his stomach gently, and the baby grinned and grabbed his finger.

"Dadadadadada bah."

"Ah. One word wonder, huh?"

"Bah!" He looked really excited about that one and squeezed Jien's finger tight.

Diapers, Jien thought. Crib, bottle, formula. What else did babies need? How the hell was he going to keep this kid safe in the same house with his mom? Did he even have a name? Where was his _mother_? Why had she let dad take him away? Maybe dad hadn't given her a choice. He could be kind of an asshole.

"I can't do this," he said quietly to the water and the grass. But he knew he'd have to. Like when Mom had stopped cooking and sat staring at the wall and didn't eat unless someone reminded her and he'd had to learn how to make something other than cold cereal. There wasn't anyone else to do it.

He stopped back at the house, didn't even go in the front door, just stood in the doorway and yelled--"Mom, does this kid have a name?"

His mom came out of the bathroom, composed, brushing her hair in long strokes. "What child?" she asked, though she had to be able to see the baby in Jien's arms.

Jien sighed. "Right." There was a bag by the door covered in blue bunnies. He picked it up and left. Between home and town he paused to get a diaper on the kid, and a little yellow shirt that said CHICKS DIG ME on it, with a picture of a couple fuzzy baby chickens. Okay, that was kind of cute. The bag also contained a pair of footie pajamas with teddy bears on them and a few more equally cutesy shirts--there was no way his dad had picked those out--but no bottle and no formula. Maybe that meant his mom had been breast feeding him.

"Maybe we could find your mom," he said. The kid smiled and bounced a little and pulled up fistfuls of grass. Jien stashed the bag behind a rock, because no way was he going to carry a diaper bag around town. "You need a name, too."

"Bah bah bah bah da!"

"I don't think that really suits you, sorry."

The kid wrinkled his nose up and tipped forward, starting to crawl with a jerky, uncertain coordination. Jien smiled and scooped him up. "Okay, don't get impatient, we're going."

***

Ju, the bartender, dangled his keys for the kid to grab at. "How about Gonou?" he said. "That's a good name."

"Nah."

"Kuo?"

"Eh."

"Bao?"

"He looks like a Gojyo to me," said a stranger. He was wearing priest's robes and had a long braid that trailed down his back and an oddly sweet smile. He moved on before Jien could reply. Jien stared after him.

"That's gotta be good luck, right?" Ju said.

"What, because he's a priest?"

"Because he's a sanzo. Besides, it's kind of a nice name. What do you think, kid?"

Jien thought the way the kid bounced and clapped his hands probably had more to do with Ju's keys than the name, but it did sound better than any of the others so far. "Okay," he said. "Sure. Gojyo."

"Go!" Gojyo said. He flapped his hands at Ju's huge fist, laughing as the keys jingled.

"What're you gonna do with him?" Ju asked.

"Fuck, I don't know. Can I have a beer?"

"Yeah, in about two years."

"If I'm old enough to raise a kid, I should be old enough to drink."

Ju sighed. "Just one. And don't drink too fast."

Jien drank slowly and watched Gojyo push peanuts around the bar top, making sure he didn't try to stick any in his mouth. He didn't know what a sanzo was and wasn't about to ask, but the priest had seemed like a good guy. From Jien's two-second impression of him anyway. Maybe it was lucky. Anyway, he'd had his drink and he'd better get going and find a bottle before Gojyo wanted one too.

The bar was on the north edge of the square in the center of town. The square was smallish, paved with uneven grey-green cobbles, and had a fountain in the middle of it. The fountain only dribbled now, and a thick coat of moss grew around its base. There was a bench around it, curved into a circle. The priest was sitting on that bench with another, younger priest. The younger guy had a toddler sitting at his feet, picking at the moss.

Jien paused, but he didn't want to look like he was staring. He'd always sort of thought Buddhist priests weren't supposed to have sex, but--maybe it wasn't his kid? Of course, he was pretty sure they weren't supposed to drink, so what had the older guy been doing in the bar?

Maybe the toddler was a really young novice. Jien squinted and walked on. It didn't matter anyway. He had more important stuff to do.

An hour later, he had diapers and a crib and a promise that they'd be delivered by evening. He stalked the aisles of the grocery store for the second time that day. He had a headache, and Gojyo was starting to fuss. It was no wonder. Who knew when the poor kid had last been fed.

Gojyo started to cry as Jien finally found the right aisle, and Jien bounced him hopelessly on his hip as he picked through the dusty boxes of formula. He hoped these things didn't have expiration dates. They didn't seem to be real popular.

"The one in the yellow box is pretty good," said a voice behind him.

Jien twisted around, startled that anyone had managed to sneak up on him and still more startled to see it was the younger priest. He had dark hair and glasses and an expression that suggested he was bored with the entire world.

"Koumyou's brat liked it okay, anyway."

"Uh. Thanks," Jien said. "Does this stuff go off?"

The priest shrugged. "It's dried."

Which wasn't really an answer, but Jien said, "Right," anyway. He picked up the yellow box and searched for an expiration date. He didn't find one.

"Is it yours?" the priest asked.

"Yeah. No. Sorta. He's my brother."

"No, he's not."

"Excuse me?" Jien found himself hold Gojyo a little tighter.

"The hair, the eyes."

Jien deflated slightly. "Yeah. But he's still my brother."

"An attitude not everyone will share."

"I don't fucking care, mister. He's my brother, and I'm not gonna let anybody hurt him."

"I'm sure no one could argue with that."

"Look, if you--"

"No, no. Your devotion is admirable. Especially towards this creature you've only just met." And then, much too abruptly, he was gone. Jien heard the retreating slap of his sandals on the floor, but he seemed to be out of sight long before the sound faded.

He reappeared at the opposite end of the aisle a few seconds later to snatch a few little jars of pureed bananas and mushy peas from the shelf, shoulders hunched, not looking at Jien. Then he was gone again.

A few minutes later, Jien sat on the bench by the fountain. The powered formula had been mixed into something Gojyo could eat, thanks to Ju, and he'd sucked down the whole bottle before belching loudly and falling asleep.

"Creature, huh?" Jien said softly. He smiled down at Gojyo because it seemed impossible not to. He wondered what the point of that conversation had been. Maybe the priest had wanted to make sure he was serious about taking care of his brother. Something like that, probably. And if he'd lost a little drama with the pureed bananas, well, he couldn't be much older than Jien. At least he was trying.

Jien closed his eyes and tipped his face to the sun. He tried not to think about how he was going to do this every single day-- _and_ make sure his mom didn't feed Gojyo to the tomatoes.

Water dripped onto its mossy bed. Birds sang in the shadows, away from the August heat. The rise and fall of voices in conversation drifted through the air to him from somewhere nearby. Tone and pitch resolved into a few recognizable words, and Jien started listening.

"You honestly dragged me along just to babysit, didn't you?"

"Aren't you having a good time? It's a lovely day."

"You did, didn't you."

Laughter, deep and clear. "I do enjoy your company."

Huffy, heartfelt sigh. "All right, why are you here then?"

"Oh, but I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes. I just didn't believe you."

"I'm sure Goudai impressed the importance of knowledge upon his students."

"You are not here to look at the snail museum."

"It's not just snails. They have gastropods of all kinds!"

Both voices fell silent. Jien could understand why. He couldn't imagine a comeback for that last line. He peeked behind him, twisting his head to see around the bulk of the fountain, and yeah, it was the two priests, toddler in tow. The older one had a beer in one hand and a pipe in the other.

Jien wondered what kind of life the kid had. He seemed content, if more solemn than Jien might've expected from someone that young. He lifted his arms up to the older priest and was drawn up into his lap. Pipe migrated to mouth and beer bottle set aside, the priest held him while he gave a mostly unintelligible monologue on something shiny he'd found on the ground. "Oh, my!" the priest said, and, "Goodness, I had no idea . They just leave them lying about, do they?" The younger priest watched with a frown that looked torn between confusion and anger.

Jien looked away. It wasn't his business. Time to get home.

***

The crib was already set up. Jien blinked at it, but it stood solidly in the middle of the room and wasn't any less there. Had his mom done that?

She was standing at the stove, leaning over a pot of something. It smelled pretty good. There was a dishtowel tucked into the waistband of her skirt as an apron, and her hair was tied back. Little strands trailed down the back of her neck, curled with heat and moisture.

"Mom?" he said cautiously. "Everything okay?" He looked over the crib before setting Gojyo inside, but it seemed both sturdy and free of snakes, broken glass, and other perils.

She smiled over her shoulder at him. "It's your favorite. I hope I remember how to make it right."

It sure looked right. He peered over her shoulder on tiptoes, a hand on her back for balance. "Wow. You didn't have to... This is great, Mom. Thanks. Really." The surprise left him half-paralyzed and tingly, unwilling to move or say anything that might shift things back to reality.

Gojyo practiced his string of syllables from the crib; the stew bubbled; his mom hummed a few bars of an old lullaby. She'd stopped singing it to him before he was old enough to distinguish the words, but the tune still played in his head at night sometimes when he closed his eyes.

"Here, taste this." His mom dipped her wooden spoon into the stew and scooped some up, cupping her hand to catch the drips.

He slurped it up, and maybe it was a little too salty, and maybe the potatoes were a tiny bit crunchy in the middle, but he couldn't stop his big, stupid grin. "It's perfect, Mom."

She tapped the spoon clean on the edge of the pot and set it aside, bringing her hand back up to cup his cheek. She smiled. "I do love you, you know."

And she kissed him. Not on the cheek or the forehead, but on the mouth. Her hand curved around the back of his neck, and her tongue slid wetly across the seam of his lips. He tried to step back, opened his mouth for air, but she held him close, nails sharp on his back through his shirt. And he thought, _Maybe it'll be all right, maybe if I just let her--_ And it was just a kiss, and everything was so close to being okay again, and maybe she wouldn't hate Gojyo after all, and--

So he let her. He brought his lost hands to rest at her waist and maybe kissed her back a little, because it was harder to just stand there and do nothing.

They had a nice dinner afterwards. Jien made himself clean his plate, but he wasn't really hungry anymore. He slept on the couch because somehow being in the main room with Gojyo was a better option than being alone in his room. He woke up in the pre-dawn dark and saw his mom standing over the crib. There was just enough light to see the tears on her face. He watched without moving until she turned and walked back to her own room.

Afterwards, he watched the shadows on the ceiling and tried to keep lying to himself. He failed. It was too dark and he was too alone, and nothing was going to get better. Nothing was going to get easier. It was only going to get worse. He'd told that priest he'd protect his brother, and he meant it.

Floorboards creaked gently under his weight as he walked barefoot from room to room, shoving stuff into a bag. He dumped it outside the door and got Gojyo's stuff together too. In the grey haze, Gojyo's skin looked washed out, sickly, and Jien stared for a few long seconds to make sure he was still breathing.

That kiss. He couldn't even say he hadn't seen it coming. When dad walked out the first time, there was something in the way she hugged him--more often, more closely, stroking his hair. Maybe he'd encouraged it. He'd missed dad too.

He picked Gojyo up, shoved his feet into his boots, and walked outside. There was just enough light to see the road. He walked towards town, wondering where he would go from there.

The bar was closed, of course. The empties were stacked in cases outside, and someone had been sick in the gutter. Jien sat on the bench by the fountain again. He knew a bunch of people in town, but no one whose door he could knock on before dawn and expect anything but blank stares and resentment. Ju might give him a job. Maybe. But Jien was pretty sure any job he was qualified to do wouldn't earn him enough to raise a baby, and plus, there was no one to look after Gojyo while he worked.

Yeah. He hadn't thought this through all that well. Being away from his mom had seemed like the most important thing, but he was getting hungry now, and he didn't even have running water for Gojyo's bottle.

Gojyo's real mother was out there somewhere. Dad would know where. And she'd loved Gojyo--she had to, right? She was his mother. If he could get Gojyo back to her, she'd take care of him. But he'd have to find his father first. Somehow. While looking after Gojyo, who couldn't very well sleep in barns or go for even one day without food.

His head dropped down, and his eyes fixed on the stone visible between his feet. Even cold and worried as he was, he could feel sleep pulling at him, and he drifted. After an uncertain amount of time, someone sat down beside him. Of course it was the older priest. It seemed inevitable.

"I'm not Buddhist," Jien said. "Why are you even awake?"

"Hm? Are you speaking to me?"

"Yeah, I'm speaking to you. Does it look like there's anyone else around here?"

"It's almost dawn."

"I think that was my point."

"Oh, I see."

Jien watched him out of the corner of his eye. "What's your name?"

"Koumyou."

"Is that kid yours?"

"Kouryuu? I suppose he is. Finders keepers, they say."

Jien was quiet for a while. Koumyou showed no sign of impatience, or of anything else. "Are you really here to check out the snail museum?"

"Hm. Well, no. But you mustn't tell my companion. I'm afraid he might disapprove."

"What are you here for?"

Koumyou leaned close and opened the top of the bag he was carrying so Jien could see the glass bottle inside. "You know Mr. Chang? He lives just outside of town?" Jien nodded. "He makes the best pomegranate sake I've ever tasted. And of course this is such a pleasant town, it's hardly a chore to stop by once in a while. I find the snails fascinating."

"...Really?"

"Oh, yes. Don't you?"

"Uh."

"Ukoku doesn't either. But he's bored easily."

Jien felt something coming over him, unstoppable and drenching as a summer rainstorm, and he couldn't tell whether it was the right thing to do or whether it was stupid and selfish, but he was going to do it anyway.

"Look," he said. "I just want to see if the bakery's open yet. Can you watch--" He hesitated, abruptly remembering that this is the guy who named him. But only for a second. Maybe that meant it was the right thing to do. "--Gojyo for a minute? I won't be long."

Koumyou smiled and held out his arms, and Gojyo settled into them without waking. Jien looked at Gojyo a second longer, biting his lip. But there was no point in waiting now. He got up and walked away without looking back.

He rounded the corner of the bar and kept walking. His bag was back there, but he didn't really _need_ it. He could find work, and he had a little money. He'd find Gojyo's mother and come back for him. Koumyou seemed like he'd be an easy guy to find. He could really do it. He could fix this, for everyone.

The sky turned pink and orange in front of him. Road dust puffed up around his feet as he crested the first hill outside of town. He looked down at the sleeping valley and felt like he could fly.


End file.
